


hard out here for a bug these days

by diapason



Series: dnf [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Miraculous Ladybug, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Catboy Dream, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Unresolved Romantic Tension, alya!sapnap, chat noir!dream, crossover fic whoops, i didn't change the name ladybug because fuck gender roles mkay, just imagine the boys in skintight suits itll be fine, ladybug!george, sorry if this is terrible it's quarter to six in the morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diapason/pseuds/diapason
Summary: A day in George's life as the Miraculous Ladybug, and a night of George's efforts to deal with knowing Rêve Noir.(catboy dream but make it love square)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: dnf [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159853
Comments: 19
Kudos: 281





	hard out here for a bug these days

**Author's Note:**

> im not sure if you need to have seen miraculous to get this so if you haven't... good luck i guess
> 
> this happened because of [smolbranshells'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolbranshells/pseuds/smolbranshells) instagram story last night they're a good writer n shit go check them out
> 
> (i hope it goes without saying this has no intent to comment on the relationship status of the real people that inspired these fictional characters! if either dream or george ask us to delete dnf content i absolutely will!)

The worst thing about being the Miraculous Ladybug was that nobody ever seemed to want to mimic _his_ aesthetic.

(“I’LL BLOW THIS MOTHERFUCKER TO SMITHEREENS!” was the cry that sent his computer science class into akuma lockdown mode, rushing for their pre-determined safety and registration points. George detoured for the restrooms.)

Sure, maybe red and black weren’t the easiest colours to style, but he thought the spots were striking and the fitted suit had a lot of opportunity to experiment with - although maybe that was just his fashion designer side speaking.

(“Tikki, transform me!” he muttered, closing his eyes to brace for the wave of magic that enveloped him and always left him a little lighter on his feet, and clambered out of the window with yo-yo in hand.)

But Rêve Noir seemed to be the darling of the public when it came to imitation and, to George’s chagrin, had managed to start a worldwide trend.

(“Where are they, where are they, where - of course, the Arc de Triomphe, how predictable,” he muttered as he swung between buildings to the tune of a ticking time-bomb that slowly increased in volume the closer he approached.)

The trend of the catboy.

“My Lord,” Rêve Noir - or, more simply, Dream - called smoothly as he dropped into a protective stance on the same roof as his black-and-green companion, “how lovely to see you again!”

“You knew I’d come, kitty,” he shook his head, suppressing a grin at the cat’s ever-persistent charm. “We have an akuma to fight.”

“Can’t a man be happy to spend time with his companion even in the face of the inevitable?”

“It’s inevitable that I’ll push you off this roof if we don’t sort this little problem out soon,” George quipped, letting his irritation be written across his features. Dream clawed a leather-gloved hand across his heart in wounded disappointment, then broke into a smile and grabbed his baton.

“Let’s show this guy who’s boss then, eh?”

The fight went unremarkably well. The akuma - Arsonist, he called himself - could only send explosive bolts of force from his… shovel, for some reason? That was easy enough to dodge - Ladybug and Rêve Noir had fought shooters before and they knew how to get around a projectile. Civilians were being smarter than usual today and George only had to take a couple of detours to save wandering tourists from potential harm, which was refreshing. He let his partner run in to distract the rampaging akuma and took the chance to call in his -

“Lucky Charm!” A trademark black-and-red object materialised in the sky and fell neatly into his waiting hands. He stared down at it, momentarily confused as always. “A toy sword?” Miraculous Sight illuminated the answer for him. “Oh, obviously. I guess watching all that fencing practice might finally come in handy.”

“Oh, you fence?” Apparently, Dream had come closer while he paused to grab the lucky charm.

“No, I’ve just… seen it done a lot.” Dream didn’t need to know about his afternoons spent leaning over the edge of the gymnasium and admiring the way Clay Agreste’s shoulders flexed as he dismantled the attacks of his opponents.

“I have a little experience myself, you know,” the cat boasted.

“With fencing, too? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I’m a man of many talents, my Lord.”

George rolled his eyes and swung back into action.

One short ‘swordfight’ later, George found his opening and thrust the magical plastic weapon into the join of the shovel, sending it clattering to the surface of the building they stood on. He could hear Dream vaulting up behind him and coming to a stand as he crushed his heel into the instrument and cracked it open. The familiar corrupted butterfly fluttered forth, and he employed his yo-yo again to cure its curse.

“You’ve done enough damage, little Akuma,” he said, more of a habit than anything these days, “I free you from evil!” The creature was easily intercepted by the swinging yo-yo and pulled into his chest - “gotcha!” - where it reappeared white and purified moments later. “Bye bye, little butterfly.” He loved this moment almost too much. The satisfaction of a job well done, the city saved, watching the little light dart off into the late morning sky.

It was only marred by the popping up of a certain cat in his field of vision. That was the other problem with working alongside Rêve Noir - the bastard stood at least half a foot taller than George, so he couldn’t simply look right over his partner like Dream could him.

“Well played,” they chorused for their usual fistbump.

“Great job, my Lord,” he grinned that catlike grin and ignored George’s huff, “you really dominated that akuma today.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.” He allowed Dream a gentle elbow to the ribs and stepped forward to check on the akuma victim. A rather ashen-looking kid dressed in yellow and black. That was Wilbur Soot, right? From school? The kid who performed in every talent show and whose little brother had showed up as ‘the dirty crime child’ akuma a month or two ago? George knew Wilbur in passing. Interesting how his darkest desires manifested in explosion.

“What… happened?” the dazed boy rubbed at his eyes and stared into Ladybug’s.

“Don’t worry, it was an akuma, we fixed it. Well, almost fixed it -” he hefted the spotted sword in his hand again and chucked it directly upwards “- Miraculous Ladybug!” The light of restoration washed across the city centre and flooded through every crater and across every fallen sign that the Arsonist had upended, leaving it all exactly as it had been before. Wonderful.

“I’m so sorry,” Wilbur began as he tried to stand and found himself struggling. George offered a silent hand and pulled the boy to his feet. “I was just… Well, Eret was talking about… and I suppose I got a bit overwhelmed… I never meant to…”

“It’s okay,” he reassured.

“I should have seen the warning signs. I just watched that Ladyblog guide to avoiding akumas, too. I’m so…” George blinked as the kid teared up. “Thank you, Ladybug.”

“I’m just doing my job. No judgement. You want to get down from here?”

“Yes, please,” Wilbur nodded, and they did.

“Get back to school if you can now, okay? Don’t let a little thing like this keep you down.”

Wilbur backed away, expressing his thanks again a dozen times over, as George heard Dream follow them down again. They were quickly surrounded by a rapidly expanding crowd, and of COURSE Nick stood proudly front and centre with phone in hand to record yet another Ladyblog exclusive.

“Ladybug! Rêve Noir! What are your thoughts on this altercation?”

George nudged his shoulder back in a gesture for Dream to speak. “Well, I’m thinking that we just did a really awesome job taking down another threat, and I’m thinking that the lovely Ladybug is a dab hand with a sword, which I’m sure you all saw.”

George looked back and eyed Dream with a silent _really?_ Dream just waggled his eyebrows infuriatingly.

“We’re just glad to save the public from threats like these,” he filled in, and Nick’s eyes lit up to hear from his idol. “I’m sure the Arsonist won’t bother the streets of Paris again - or at least, not while Rêve Noir and I are around to stop it.”

“You’re such an inspiration,” Nick gushed, very much in George’s face. He thanked Tikki again for what must have been the thousandth time that the Miraculous glamour made him totally unrecognisable to even his closest friend. “What would we do without you, Ladybug?”

“Oh,” he laughed, a little disquieted by the exclusion of his partner, “I’m sure Rêve Noir would have the city covered if I were out of commission.”

“That reminds me - Rêve Noir, I have one last question before I get out of your hair.”

Dream leaned forward, resting an elbow on George’s shoulder. In the first few weeks of knowing him, George would have shaken the contact away, unused to such casual touch, but since their crimefighting debut he’d learned to simply accept Dream being touchy as a fact of life. “And what might that be?”

“How do you feel about the catboy craze that’s been sweeping the internet since the world first saw your look?”

George closed his eyes for a long moment. He could actually _feel_ Dream’s reaction through the connection, and he knew Dream’s answer before he said it.

“I love it. It’s always been a dream of mine to be a world famous style icon. Who knows what’s next for me? Magazine covers? Billboards? Maybe a modelling job? I like a new experience.” There was something in his response that George couldn’t quite place. A secret, maybe.

“Thank you so much, heroes! This is going up as soon as class ends! Which reminds me, too - I have to get back to class! Goodbye, Ladybug,” he waved, disappearing into the throng of fans and leaving George and Dream to make their escape before anyone noticed their fandom leader was AWOL.

They picked a familiar path across houses and shops until they reached their rendezvous point, about a kilometre from the school. Neither wanted the other to know where they’d come from, after all.

“Great job out there, my Lord,” Dream repeated once they had settled briefly on top of the bakery.

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true!”

“I already know you love me, kitty, you don’t need to tell me every time.”

“My Lord, you wound me. How would you feel if I said the same to you?”

“Honestly? I’d probably be relieved you wanted me to talk to you _less_ for once.”

“You’re so offensive.”

“Only because you let me get away with it.” A smile cracked his poker face, and he turned to look out across Paris instead of at his ever-irritating partner.

“Can you believe what Sapnap said about the catboy thing?”

“He’s not wrong. You’re an internet sensation.”

“I don’t get it,” admitted his partner, “there’s not much fun about my suit that you don’t have.”

“The ears are the big one,” George automatically recited what he’d spent a couple of nights in his time studying, “I think the uniform black makes it easier to process for the viewer, and the domino mask is a little sharper which draws the eye. Plus I don’t think your eyes look like that normally.” They were undeniably catlike, inhumanly slit in neon green unlike any eye George had ever seen. It was so nice to have a brief reprieve from his native colourblindness every few days when he suited up that sometimes he would sneak Tikki an extra cookie while he worked to let him have the colour for his sketches, but his real favourite part of full colour was probably Dream’s eyes, up close like this. They shone at every time of day, almost hypnotising. Thank goodness he’d never be akumatised, or that would be a very strong villain power.

“No,” Dream laughed, “I’m not a catboy on the street, or I’d have been recognised by now. You’ve really paid attention to my outfit, huh? That’s not casual detail.”

“I have an eye for it,” was the only explanation he offered. “Come on, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“I’d leave any obligation behind for you, my Lord.”

George looked back at the cat, and saw an unnerving amount of sincerity in those unreal eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, suddenly shaken as he was on the inside.

“But, yes, I do have things to get back to. Nine lives and all that!”

“Alright,” he unhooked his yo-yo from his belt again. “Here tonight?”

“Never expect less from me, my Lord.”

And, with the same charming smirk he pointed at Sapnap’s camera every week, Rêve Noir was gone.

Back at school, Nick didn’t even bother to ask why he’d returned to the lesson so late. He probably knew George would have one of the same few tired excuses he always peddled, and he definitely didn’t want to waste his time going through the motions another day. He simply offered a silent salute as George crossed the classroom and sank into his seat wearily.

“George, please try to get back after attacks a little faster, okay?” Mr Watson chastised, already knowing it had happened before and would happen again. George nodded dutifully and returned to the textbook already on the table.

“You get a good interview?” he whispered to Nick, a few minutes later.

“Oh, you know it! Chief Ladyblogger Sapnap always gets his scoop,” boasted his best mate quietly. “I’ll show you after class.”

And he did, and George pretended to be watching something novel, and everything played out just as it always did. He couldn’t help his eyes flickering to Nick’s face to watch his reaction to the whole catboy moment, and as he expected it brought his friend an expression of glee.

“I don’t understand this catboy thing,” George complained.

“What’s not to love? Rêve Noir is the total package - hot guy, leather costume, cat ears, he’s got everything you need. If he didn’t have eyes just for Ladybug I’m sure the rest of us would be lining up around the block.”

“If he didn’t - what?”

Nick blinked at him. “You seriously don’t see the Ladynoir in everything they do?”

George paused to process.

“Ladynoir being…”

“Ladybug and Rêve Noir, obviously.”

“Did you come up with that?”

“I’m not that smart, Gogy, it was the Ladyblog forums’ idea.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

The thought occupied George’s mind in too large part to let him finish working on the problems they’d been assigned that day. Sure, he and Dream - well, they had - he understood why the fans would - but really? He really didn’t see Dream like that. Their flirting was just banter, obviously.

George only had eyes for one person.

“Hello, George,” Clay Agreste greeted casually as he brought over a tray of food to sit with him, Nick, and Darryl. George tried extremely hard not to freeze up, and failed miserably.

“Hi,” he squeaked.

“Clay, what did you think of the fight this morning?” asked Darryl, taking Clay’s attention off of George, for which he thanked his friend infinitely. Bad was definitely getting muffins next time he made a batch.

“Oh, I didn’t catch any of it, I was in the basement.” His smile took George’s breath away and made it very hard to eat.

“It was awesome!” Nick beamed. “Ladybug totally beat the Arsonist into the dust.”

“I’m sure he did.” Agreste’s neat golden hair shifted gently as he nodded. Everything about his classmate was golden. No wonder he was such a successful model.

“And I even managed to get my catboy question in -”

“Your… catboy question?”

“Oh!” The aspiring journalist laughed. “Sorry, I guess I can’t expect you to keep up with memes. There’s a huge thing for boys with cat ears lately, and I’m pretty sure Rêve Noir was patient zero.”

“Is that so?” The beautiful smile was back, and the conversation practically muffled itself in the face of George’s admiration.

“George didn’t like it either,” Nick complained. Darryl offered him a consoling pat on the back from across the table.

“Hey,” protested Clay, “who said I didn’t like it?”

“Well, do you?”

Clay considered it. “I think I’m more of a Ladybug man myself.”

George felt himself go as red as his suit.

“Oh, really? Give us the details!” He could see the Sapnap shining through in Nick’s expression, because he was Not Looking At Clay, lest he melt into the floor.

“There’s… nothing much to say. I think he’s cooler, is all.”

“Cooler? What about cuter?”

“Sure.”

George choked.

“What, George?” Nick teased. “Jealous of a superhero?”

“No,” he defended, actually managing to think on his feet, “I just think Rêve Noir is underrated.”

“How so?” asked Clay, and George tensed at being addressed directly. He met Clay’s golden eyes and soldiered past the shiver that overtook him. This was it. Actually speaking to his crush. He could handle that.

“Er… good… fighting?”

Good enough.

The rest of the day passed in a blur - classes, breathers, stealing every glance he could as Clay Agreste chatted to his friends and stuck his tongue out working on a problem and waved as he descended the front steps outside school into his waiting limousine, home, sketching, working, helping his parents with the shop, sneaking Tikki snacks off the counter, staring at the same picture from Clay’s latest shoot with Dior until his retinas burned, a little more homework, dinner, and then 8:30 rolled around. That meant patrol.

He was always careful to climb up and out of the skylight as quietly as possible - maybe one day Dream would catch him in the act, half-transformed in his bedroom, and the jig would be up, but he didn’t want that day to be today. Thankfully he was alone as always, though; he pulled up the window and rounded the chimney to rest his arms on the edge of his balcony. He had no idea why Dream had originally suggested the Dupain-Cheng Bakery as their rendezvous point, but it worked out well for him in terms of travel time so he hadn’t complained. Besides, if he did, maybe Dream would have suspected he had some connection to the place, and that was dangerous to say the least.

The cat landed behind him so softly that he almost didn’t catch it. “Good evening, my Lord.”

He didn’t turn. “Good evening, kitty. How was the rest of your day?”

“Oh, very uneventful,” he monotoned, “nobody keeping me busy at all. Nothing to distract me from thoughts of you.”

“You’re lying,” accused George with a smirk. He felt Dream take up the empty space beside him and they overlooked Paris together. Nobody could deny that the view from George’s roof was beautiful.

“Okay, you got me. I was pretty busy. But that’s not to say I wasn’t still thinking about my Ladybug at every moment of rest!”

“Dream,” he groaned, “you’re too much.”

“Never too much for my Lord, I hope - perish the thought.”

“You talk so strangely.”

“Really? I do receive a top-of-the-line education. Chaucer, Brontë, Shakespeare, you know, the works. It’ll help me write you sonnets.” He wiggled his eyebrows again. George almost fell into those neon green eyes of his before collecting himself. _One person._ Letting Dream get involved in his love life would only complicate things beyond belief, and he couldn’t betray his lifelong love for Clay like that.

“We should get moving.”

“If you wish,” Dream pushed off the rail of the balcony, and the metallic noise of his baton leaving his belt cut through the night air. George reached for his yo-yo to match.

They took their normal laps around the city in quiet. Westward first, chasing the long since set sun; then north, towards the centre of town; then east and down the length of the river, checking in at every bridge; and south back to the spot they’d started. George liked to see what changed every night they went out searching for trouble to get in the way of - maybe one night someone’s usually-closed window would be wide open with curtains billowing, or a satellite would have been knocked out of place, or a new nest of birds would have taken up residence in someone’s chimney for them to gently relocate in case of fire. That was honestly when he felt more like a hero than any akuma fight - those people weren’t in control, it was all Hawkmoth’s little game of cat and mouse, but up here in the cold night air he could really make a difference on a personal level.

Dream seemed to like it too, although he wasn’t quite sure where the cat’s interests lay, as every time their eyes met he shifted almost imperceptibly into something… a little less soft, he thought. At this time of night his eyes, much like a regular cat’s, had wider pupils, almost human. The brightness of that green would never cease to amaze him no matter how many times they ran together.

“We’re back,” Dream pointed out unnecessarily when the bakery came back in sight almost an hour later. He almost detected a hint of disappointment - typical Dream.

“Yes,” he replied, equally unnecessarily. They jumped for the balcony in sync, and it felt a little like time slowed down as he sailed next to his partner. Today had been pretty much perfect, as Ladybug days went.

“I had a good time today.”

“... Me too.”

“Seriously, my Lord, it… well, my day was tough, and you made it better. Like, a lot better.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I…” For once, Dream seemed lost for words. George turned to watch him leaning on the brick chimney in the centre of the roof, and saw him fidgeting with his trademark black ring. His Miraculous.

“Careful with that,” he warned lowly. Dream stared in uncomprehension for a second before he noticed what his hands were doing and pulled away.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Silence.

Something in the mood… zoomed in, it felt like.

“But if you ever wanted to -”

“ _No,_ Dream,” George insisted, as he had so many times before. “No identity reveals. Not now, not ever. It’s bad enough how much we talk to each other as it is - you could probably figure me out already from everything I’ve told you.”

“What, like there’s only one colourblind brown-eyed artist in the city?” Dream chuckled.

“No, but you know what I mean. I’m… you know I’m scared of it. What will happen.”

“I don’t understand you.” Dream ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the wild blonde locks even further into chaos. “If it’s only you and me who know, we could be even better fighters. We could exchange phone numbers, talk outside the suits. Be friends, maybe.”

“Maybe,” he hummed. “Aren’t you scared at all?”

Dream looked down. “A little,” he admitted. “I… you’d be surprised, to know me. I’m nothing like - like this on the ground.”

“That makes two of us.”

“But this is the real me, I think. Sometimes I feel like I live the secret identity when my Miraculous is off.”

“Yeah?”

“I think so.”

“Ladybug is… he’s not me. He’s the person I wish I could be in the daytime, I suppose - he’s confident, and assertive, and he can tell the difference between purple and blue.”

“Purple’s not so crucial. You can live without purple. What’s purple, anyway? Hawkmoth?”

“I’m sure a lot of pretty things are purple.”

“Forget it. I’m sure your true self is just as beautiful as you are.”

Damn the blush rising on his cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Awww, what’s wrong - cat got your tongue?”

And there was the trademark photo grin again, and everything was normal.

“You are impossible, Rêve Noir.”

“Hey, only the news gets to call me that! It’s Dream to you, my Lord.”

He couldn’t help smiling himself, turning away again. The Eiffel Tower distantly lit up the horizon; even this late at night, tourists would still be out on the streets of the city, probably drunkenly stumbling past it or cheerfully posing for cheesy photos like a thousand others on the internet already or sharing quiet moments at the base with their lovers. Nobody on top, though.

“We should do it some time. Camp out the top of the Eiffel Tower overnight, I mean.”

“Just you and me?”

“Who else do you know that can get that high up on short notice, kitty?”

“Fair enough.” A pause. Considering. “You wanna know a secret?”

George considered it himself. “What kind of secret?”

“Just a little one. Promise it won’t help you work me out.”

“Okay.”

Dream leaned in. His lips almost brushed George’s ear; his hair definitely brushed George’s face and fluttered over the edges of the spotted mask, sending a chill through him. “I’m actually terrified of heights,” he whispered.

“No way.”

“Totally,” the cat smiled. George turned to face him again. Why were they so close now? “I freaked out so bad after, like, our first ten fights.”

“How do you hide it like that?”

“I don’t know,” mused Dream. “I guess something about your pretty smile just keeps me grounded.”

“Stop it.” He fought the smile that, called upon, struggled to be let out. To be appreciated, no doubt. He wasn’t sure how well he’d handle that at this point in the night.

“Alright,” Dream relented, “but now it’s your turn.”

“What?”

“You have to tell me a little secret too!”

“I - was that your goal the whole time?”

“Oh come on, are you not gonna?”

George looked up at the sky overhead. The stars blinked back at him, oblivious to the emotions he was holding back. _Just you and me._

“I’m starting to understand the stupid catboy thing,” he finally offered.

Dream stopped short, wordless and mouth open, for a long moment. Then he wheezed that stupid Rêve Noir teakettle laugh.

“The…” He grabbed George’s arm, and George tensed a little at the sudden contact, “the _catboy thing? That’s_ your little secret?”

“What’s wrong with that?” George frowned.

“I - nothing, I…” He breathed out heavily, composing himself. “I was expecting, like, what you wanna do for a living or your favourite flower or something random like that, not… _catboy_ content.”

“Well, it’s been a hell of a day for people talking to me about catboys, I guess it’s just on my mind.”

“Alright, I can’t stay mad at you,” Dream smiled, “I guess we’ve both been thinking about each other today.”

“I didn’t spend all my time thinking about you,” he defended, mind flashing back to Clay as easily as water rushing to a drain. Was this mental cheating? Unattainable polyamory? Hypothetical betrayal?

“Were you thinking of another catboy? Who do I have to claw?” It was undeniably a joke, but that same strange softness came back to his pointed face.

“I don’t know,” George committed to the banter route, “who are you willing to fight?”

A frown solidified in Dream’s features. “Anyone, my Lord.”

“Anyone?”

“I would defend my claim to your side with my life.”

“Even…” He pretended to ponder. “Let’s say Clay Agreste was asking for my hand.”

The frown evaporated. “The model?”

“The very same.”

“I… yes, I said anyone, but… why did you choose him?”

“We saw his face on enough billboards on patrol tonight, I think it’s justified.”

“I… Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Clearly having struck a nerve, George changed tactic. “He wouldn’t be half the catboy you are, I’m sure, Dream.”

“Yeah.” The moment was definitely lost to the wind. What was Dream’s hangup about Clay?

The breeze picked up, starting to raise George’s hair from its usual safe flatness against his forehead. It was definitely getting cold out, and Dream probably needed to get back to sleep.

“You want to be done for the night?”

“What? Uh. If you do.”

“You just seem a bit tired.”

“Maybe. More like… no, yeah, tired is fine.”

George fixed Dream in his gaze. Something was stirring behind those unbelievable eyes. “One day I’ll feel better about telling you big secrets,” he promised, and meant it.

“That’s good.”

“But for now you go home and get some sleep, okay?”

Dream sighed. “Yeah. Goodnight, Ladybug.”

“What did you say earlier? Only - only the news gets to call me that, kitty.”

He waited patiently for his reaction, and was rewarded with a growing, tired grin. “You can’t use my lines on me.”

“Oh, dish it out but can’t take it?”

“Don’t make me stay. I might do something we’d both regret.”

A moment captured the two of them. George’s eyes flickered across Dream’s masked face. The glamour shifted each mark of his skin every other moment, leaving his features never quite the same beyond a general level of recognition - he wondered if this was what faceblindness felt like. The only constant was the eyes.

And the open mouth, and Dream’s tongue darted out to wet the edge of his lips, and his teeth were just that little bit sharper than any normal human’s, and George pressed his own lips together under the weight of the space between them, and -

Dream turned his head. The moment passed.

George watched him vault away without a word.

Maybe there were bigger problems with being the Miraculous Ladybug than aesthetic.

**Author's Note:**

> it's literally 6am why did this take me all night to finish i need to be writing christmas gifts and the rest of state lines and and and
> 
> actually nvm be grateful you got dream in skintight black leather and an almost kiss take your scraps [/technoblade voice]
> 
> comment so i didn't waste all that time i should have spent sleeping


End file.
